15 minutes before heading for lunch

It’s raining. Deep sighing. It always rains when a) it’s haircut day and b) walking to town to meet friends for lunch.

Photo: My daughter – her doggie

Today it’s a walk to lunch day. Hey-ho, the lunch and chatter will make it worth while. Big coat and large hat will keep me dry.

Yesterday was my first experience of going to work in the dark, and coming home in the dark. Left the house at 7.20am, and left work at 4.05pm. A new colleague had said to expect this, and I’d rather pooh-poohed it. HA! how daft was I. Not sure I’m going to like this though. 

Black Friday and Cyber Monday have come and gone, and my credit card was flashed about a little. Hubster got a new food mixer and I got – ahem – let’s leave it at an overlocker. Anything else purchased was purely incidental.

Talking of Credit Cards, learnt today my card has been scammed. Well done to my bank for seeing some odd transactions and blocking them mind. Seems these bloody crooks have racked up quite a few thousand Rands of purchases. GRRRRRRRRRR! 

Got myself a Fitbit in the sale – not admitting to buying anything else. Explained to the sales lady all that was needed was a basic model that tells me how lazy I am. Well, money well spent, daily it vibrates, many times a day, telling me to move or perhaps I’ve passed out. Just received the obligatory vibrate, so best I get up, run around the house for a wee while before heading for lunch.

If you’ve fallen on this blog, it is all about getting me to write again. Taking 15 minutes a day – hopefully – and writing whatever comes to  mind. 

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15 minutes and getting fit in the High Street while boosting the economy

 

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Photo by Mark Dalton on Pexels.com

Two things on my mind right now. First being, time to think about tightening up the relaxed muscle around my middle, and second, how can we boost the High Street once more.

Both are really important in my life.

The flab, err, relaxed muscle is part of ageing I suppose and can be managed to a point without the need of a girdle – she hopes. I have memories of my Nan daily putting on hers until she was of an age that surely they didn’t sell them anymore, let alone make them.

There’s no surprise then to know how resorting to something confined such as Le Girdle, almost has me dieting and exercising 5 hours a day – well, perhaps not that extreme, but you get the idea.

The High Street falling apart makes me sad. What a joy it is, has been, to be able to wander around, window shopping, trying on, thinking, smelling, pondering, stopping for a chat with somebody I bumped into and compulsory taking a few minutes to stop for a coffee. The buzz, the vibe of being within life.  It can’t be beaten.

And also how sad to see retailers and small business being ground to a halt due to online shopping and dare I say a touch of laziness on our part.

With that in mind, I thought of a way of boosting exercise and, the High Street, without even knowing we’re doing it.  Bearing in mind there’s much put about regarding completing 10000 steps a day, why not walk and shop?

Simple. Doesn’t need a whole lot of explaining. In fact, you can get fit, support and enjoy the High Street, and you can boost yourself socially, face to face. And – yet another and – there’s no membership fee nor need to shower afterwards. For those who prefer a big shopping centre, great, even better, all-weather supporting and getting fit – you can’t go wrong.

Am I holier than thou? Not really. Just thinking about ways of achieving two things which are really important to me. Will I do online shopping? Yes I will. But sparingly.  Will I go to the gym. Did you hear the ground shake as I fell off my chair roaring?

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog all about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

 

 

15 minutes out with a giraffe and frolleague

 

giraffe

photo from here

Funny how you think about things, but recently I reminded myself about a night out with a frolleague. The night itself wasn’t memorable with regards to where we went – bar in Greenpoint, Cape Town – for it was all about having a drink and just chilling. Anyway, what makes me smile about that night is how this frolleague must have been over 6ft tall, while I’m around 5ft 1 or 2 when extending my neck. She wore heels too so you can imagine how we looked. She tall, very blonde, very dynamic personality, and me short, dark and wearing flats.  Quite possibly she being the giraffe, and me being the keeper, tagging along behind

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

15 minutes with deaf ears, colleagues, M25, M1 and a breathing duvet

I should have had loads of 15-minute blogs by now. I’ve worked many through my mind all eager to hit the old keyboard and then nothing.

So trying to do a recap of a few:

  1. One was about a colleague who rents a room in a house with several others. Colleague explained that on walking into a room where her housemates are they burst out laughing at her. Are these people not miserable examples of human beings?
  2. Another was about the same colleague who was told it would not be possible to attend college in the UK as her English was not good enough, and this despite holding a full-on hour or more conversation in English and handing over English coursework etc.  I give this young person much credit, for at the end she said something along the lines of “well let’s see if you understand this then. Please call your supervisor I’d like to speak to them instead.” Suffice to say she was accepted by said supervisor immediately
  3. Sat on the M25 and M1 today for so long I might as well have got out, hitched a bag over my shoulder and strolled home. Jeepers, what a way to spend a day off. Stuck in traffic no matter the route chosen. Took me 2 3/4 hrs to do a 1 1/2 hr trip.  Good job there were rhubarb and custard sweets in a little box at hand to work my way through. Mind you, they did leave my mouth all claggy like. Note to self, take water with next time you travel
  4. Have completed 2 online hearing tests recently – as you do. One just now. The first one told me I had some hearing loss and a proper test would be good. I scoffed because the hubster is the one with the hearing problems. There be no-wax build up in his lug-holes, it’s just good old going blooming deaf. And how do I know? Holy smokes, the homeowners 3 streets away have taken to treating our house as podcasts. As in taking up seat in their lounge, flinging open the windows and just listening to our TV. OK, a slight exaggeration. OK, OK, a complete exaggeration! Truth is the volume on the TV breaks the sound barrier whenever he has the control. Second hearing test tells me no problem with my hearing, get on with your life and get the hubster to the test rather
  5. Much chatter on the radio today about switching the central heating on this weekend. I don’t know what the fuss is all about, ours has hardly been off. We will be inching it up though 🙂
  6. Hubster is away for the weekend. Doing some gardening and stuffs with his sister. I will be watching the TV at a low level. Working the graveyard shift Saturday and Sunday and with luck getting some yoga in
  7. Hubster and I are fed up with our duvet. It be cuddly, it be soft. And it be bloody boiling hot. Much googling later and it seems not so much the tog, rather it is not a breathable one. Who would have thought to ask if a duvet breathes or not? John Lewis here we come. Yep, we’re going all out, to heck with the cost, give us a duvet that breathes.

Photo credit: I am not sure and I apologise but had to use it because it is so darn cute and cheery

NB I do my utmost to use photos flagged for free reuse.

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What the heck is this blog all about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

15 minutes with alpha, charlie and an aubergine

brinjal

Photo credit: Mine

Unlike a lot of my graveyard shifts when I’ve been working alone, last night we were three. And my goodness what a massive difference it made, on so many levels. Laughter was surely heard from Buckinghamshire to Glasgow me thinks.

After my mispronouncing the Headcount Report which left the three of us roaring, one of my colleagues relayed the story of how her husband called his insurance company to report a chip in his windscreen. Wanting to lighten the moment he proceeded to tell his number plate using a more humourous version of the alpha, charlie phonetic alphabet.

K – for Kit-kat he said. By this time my colleague was almost controlling her laughter, and then she hit us with the classic – O for Aubergine. Well, we almost collapsed. OK, you probably had to be there to appreciate it, but say it out loud a few times and you’ll have a giggle at least. Especially when you consider he really didn’t get it that it wasn’t O for Obergine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

 

 

 

 

15 minutes and the need to rewind time

Eternal_clock

Image from HERE

Licking breakfast marmalade from my fingers, hubster is considering his next move to wash-up or head out to run.

“What’s the time?” I said.

“Huh,” he says, a sense of glee in his voice alerting me this is not going to be as easy as it should be. “The clock says 7.58, the radio says 8.01, so it must be 9am.”

“You what?”

“I’m running at 9am, you asked me.”

“No, I asked you what the time is.”

“No, you asked me what time I’m running.”

Giving up licking marmalade, I reply. “I didn’t. I asked you what the time is and you said, The clock says 7.58, the radio says 8.01, so it must be 9am.”

Hubster sits down. “No, you asked me what time I’m running.”

“Well if I did, then why did you tell me it was sometime between 7.58 and 8.01?”

Hubster looks at me, that way he does when he really wants to end the conversation and pretend it hasn’t happened, as in, little smile, almost a flutter of his eyelids.

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” I said, trying hard not to stop licking fingers and start chewing them. “If we could have a rewind button and remove the last 90 seconds of our life?”

Hardly surprising to learn we both agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

15 minutes with a dumpling and Outlander

Had delicious dumplings for supper and fear they continue to expand in my tummy.  Within the hour I will probably appear to be 18 months pregnant and be in need of rolling down the stairs to seek out the hubster, requesting he flop me over a shoulder and burp me. Either way not all that attractive.

Busy watching several more episodes of Outlander. I’m up to season 3 episode 4 now, all very enjoyable with flashbacks to past and present. Much better than season 1 and 2 that all but drained me with every episode leading up to the Battle of Culloden and the Jacobite rising. Actually, after both season 1 and 2, the history of the Jacobites is still a complete mystery to me. I mean, were Jamie and Claire Jacobites or not, and was Bonny Prince Charles such a dope after all?

Ok, so right now Jamie has just had sex with another, and it seems she is preggers. Not good, when he is now the groom and she is the wife of a Lord who is old enough to be her grandfather.

Hmmm, hang on a minute, maybe she had far too many dumplings too!

You can find out about Outlander by clicking HERE

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

15 minutes with new Downton Abbey

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Photo: From here

Have you seen or heard? Hold onto your knickers. It be true. The Downton Abbey movie begins filming next week.

Really hoping Lady Mary is down on her luck and having to settle amongst the poor in this one.  I don’t mind if she’s relocated to a stone cottage with a tin sink in the hall, and outside loo, all down the road from Downton, or even up in London in a 2 up 2 down terrace she shares with a family of 10, most of whom are under the age of 2. Not overly bothered if she is married or not, but it would be nice if she’d put on a bit of weight because she really is way too thin to cope with the chill.

Lord Grantham and his lady need a bit of a shake-up too. My money is on them having themed murder mystery weekends where all they really do is drink endless cocktails while wearing knee-length costumes that allow them to float and fall about in a newly installed, heated swimming pool.

Lady Edith, she must have a good life this time around, because, for goodness sake, she had the crappiest life of them all.

Downstairs, well please no more weeping over husbands being framed for murder and whatnot.  Rather let’s have one of these good servants inherit a fortune and make a grab for Downton itself, or at least fall in the pool with a tray of cocktails while Lady Grantham reaches for another olive.

And as for those children. Well, let them be happy little people with no illness or anything.

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

 

 

15 minutes with Serena Williams and afternoon tea

Well having not watched the US Open 2018 Ladies final match in its entirety, and having caught up with the news and clips on the WWW, I kinda feel like taking Serena Williams by the hand and suggesting she takes a good old break, read some lovely books, and have some time to dwell on why it’s ok not to always win. And, if she is on the losing side, not to push the blame at any other person or situation that ends up in this sort of madness.

Easier said than done, sure. But she was losing that match, no matter the coaching or not. The outburst was likely frustration on a catastrophic level. And sure, we all have those times when you just want to punch something or somebody when you’ve tried so bloody hard to win, get, gain, achieve only for it to fall apart on the day.

And, Serena, I would say. You’ve achieved so much. You have no need to do more for your daughter to be able to see this in years to come. Jeepers, what a role model you will surely be. Come on Serena, you are a WINNER. You don’t need another trophy to polish once a week to know it.

I’m going for Afternoon Tea today, maybe Serena would have liked to join us 🙂

Basically, in about 45 mins time there will be delightful cake and small sandwiches being shovelled down my throat, washed down with Earl Grey tea – actually, correction, a glass of bubbly will do better.

Hubster and I are heading off for this. Sadly this means no roast potatoes for him today, but he will cope because he is a WINNER on so many levels.

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Photo: mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

 

 

15 minutes with Radio 2, getting older and the Wombles

Today at work my younger colleague kindly changed her normal radio channel to Radio 2.  The pair of us have been on the early shift this week starting at 6am. And after her morning coffee and my cup of hot water, we settle down and colleague streams her fav channel. The music is pretty much as expected, loud, good beat, sometimes a load of noise and meaningless, sometimes great, but whatever it is, it keeps you going and often I hear myself singing and humming along.  Anyway, a day or so ago, my colleague asked me which channel I listen to. Radio 2, I said. Today then, through no prompting or complaining from me, she streams my channel.

“That’s kind, and thank you very much,” I said. Very touched she would do this.

“I like old music too,” she said.

I laughed good and hard at being advised of my age and said she must change back whenever she wanted. We lasted, probably, about half an hour until the Wombles song came on, at which point she reached for her mouse and said it was time to change.

Can’t say I blame her.